Issue 87 - NWRFCA - Northwest Reserve Forces & Cadets Association

LIverpool University
otc
My French
connection...
by Ocdt helen Rhodes
I packed up my bags, said my goodbyes, and
boarded a train to Rennes. I was on my way
to St Cyr, (aka French Military Academy) for a
month’s training. My mission? To become an
Officer in the French reserves. My fear? That I
would somehow manage to single-handedly
destroy the entente cordiale!
My arrival at Rennes station signified the
start of my journey. Laden with enough kit to
equip a small army I staggered up the escalator
and endeavoured to identify my fellow St
Cyriens.
I continued my search and soon enough
located a nervous looking group with a
substantial collection of military rucksacks.
Eager to make a good impression, I did the
rounds and introduced myself. To say that
they were surprised to have an English woman
in the ranks is an understatement! With a
mixture of fear and trepidation we waited for
our bus which was to take us to the Promised
Land, ‘l’École Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr’.
On arrival we were introduced to the Officers
and NCOs who were to be in charge of us and
shown to our accommodation. Next we were
formed up, the duty student was nominated,
and we were given our various roles, and what
roles they were! There was an Officer Cadet in
charge of pretty much everything, sport, food,
photography and most worryingly singing! As
the youngest, French tradition dictates that I
was to look after the handing out of rations,
water and supplies – a role I would relish!
The role of the Officer Cadet in charge of
singing soon became apparent as the Officer
in charge inquired ‘who does not know the
words to the national anthem’. Sheepishly, and
with many a snigger from my comrades, my
hand crept up, ‘Rhodes’ he bellowed with a wry
smile, ‘you have permission to mime for the
time being, but I expect you to know it by the
end of the week’.
Once our vocal chords had been trained, we
started to settle in to routine. ‘Reveille’ was a
bracing 0530 and the day started with healthy
dose of cleaning, much to the boys’ dismay!
After that, it was a swift march to breakfast,
which we threw down our throats at breakneck
speeds and then from 0700 – 2100 hours with
just a break for lunch and dinner, we enjoyed a
variety of lessons: map and compass; sport; first
aid; ethics; leadership; military history, you
name it we learnt it, all in French of course!
Having established the basics, it was time
for our first outing to the field. They were to
break us in gently with a 2 day exercise. In
many ways it was not dissimilar to British
training, except the SA80 had been replaced
by the FAMAS, the ration packs were top notch
(despite their rather bizarre tinned form)
and we were treated to such delights as duck
à l’orange, as well as an aperitif of beer and
peanuts in the field – God bless the French!
This was the first of 3 progressive exercises; a
further four day exercise and a final two day
exercise were undertaken.
Despite the long days (we often weren’t
in bed until gone midnight) the time passed
quickly and before we knew it the passing
out parade was beckoning, it was time to
get practising! Swords, white gloves and the
stark warning not to chop our ears off were
issued! We were soon wielding our swords
like pros with only a few mishaps along the
way - one lad hadn’t properly secured his
scabbard, screws came tumbling out and with
an embarrassing clatter he was left sword less
and red faced! Thankfully no blood was spilt!
As the final days approached, we were
introduced to our Parrains (military
Godfathers). They were the Officers who were
to present us with our Officer’s rank slide
(gallants) and who were to be our mentors for
the rest of our careers. Parade day arrived and,
with great pride, I stood amongst my comrades
in my British uniform. With a beret instead of
a kepi, I stood out like a sore thumb! As night
fell, the ceremony started, it was time for our
big moment!
With the pitter-patter of our Godfather’s feet
nearing, I took a deep breath, my mission was
nearly complete, and it was time to become an
officer! In front of me however, was not what
I had anticipated. Not one, but two Parrains!
The one I had been allocated and another
unknown had arrived in front of me and were
arguing! ‘She’s mine’ said one; ‘no, no, she was
definitely on my list!’ said the other. Trying to
not to laugh and maintain the steely exterior
necessary, I felt strangely honoured that I was
being fought over. Eventually the unknown
Parrain won (to this day, I have no idea why I
was on his list!) and I was duly presented with
my rank slide along with an inspiring speech.
Mission accomplished!
My time at St Cyr was a brilliant experience
and it was an honour to work alongside the
French army. I have made some great friends,
improved my French tenfold, and hopefully
given my French comrades an insight into
what the British Army is about, oh, and in case
you were wondering the entente cordiale is
still intact!
www.nwrfca.org.uk the volunteer 53